Snapshots From A Life Well Lived
by BeTheWorld
Summary: Twenty vignettes, one from each year of Harry and Draco's lives together. 1998-2017. Filled with love and happiness and fluffy feelings and babies, but absolutely NO MPreg, all mixed in with a healthy amount of bickering. Don't worry — I haven't neutered Draco. He's just as insolent as ever, only with a softer edge. Harry/Draco; EWE
1. 29 December, 1998

**A/N**: I want to preface this by saying that, since this story makes such huge quantum leaps into the future with each new chapter, the early stages of their relationship _will_ feel very rushed. I realise that, and it was intentional. Also, each one of these can be read separately, but I wouldn't recommend skipping around _too_ much, as there will be a bit of carryover between chapters and you probably won't recognise all the characters in later chapters if you don't read straight through. That said, enjoy and REVIEW! :)

**Disclaimer:** All characters not of my own creation belong to JK Rowling

They Say That Things Cannot Grow Beneath the Winter Snow (I Simply Can't Agree)

29 December, 1998

Harry wakes with a start, his heart pounding in his ears. He isn't sure what's woken him, but there's a cold sweat clinging to his forehead. He wracks his brain, trying to remember. He'd been having a nightmare…that much he knows. It had been something terrible, something bad enough that his mind had jerked him from sleep. He glances around the room, his gaze fixing on the familiar walls, the cheerful morning sunshine pouring in through the frosty windows, the noise of the bustling London street below.

Even if he's not sure what he'd been dreaming about, he can make a fairly close guess. He's been having the same dream off and on for the last six months. It's been quite a while since he's gone more than a few weeks without screaming himself awake. He disentangles his legs from the blankets slowly, shoving his glasses on his face and blinking through the morning haze.

He swings his feet over the edge of the bed and shuffles to the window where an owl is waiting with the morning paper, tapping the glass impatiently. As he fumbles for coins, he feels a pounding headache beginning to build behind his eyes. It isn't the same pain in his scar that he's gotten used to over the years; no, this is different. It's the deep-set sort of fatigue that comes with an ordeal like the one he suffered, not something most people will ever be able to understand.

As the owl flies off into the cold, Harry shakes the _Prophet _open with one hand, glancing down at the headlines. More news on the rebuilding of the Ministry, of Hogwarts, of the search for competent government officials to take care of the restructuring issue. His name is mentioned a few times, and Harry, without reading much further, tosses the paper carelessly onto the bed and shuffles downstairs.

When he arrives in the kitchen, he makes his coffee mechanically, flicking his wand over his shoulder to start a fire in the grate, dragging a chair over and curling up near it, pulling his knees to his chest. As much as Harry gets caught up in his head these days, he knows that things have definitely changed for the better since the end of the war. It sometimes takes quite a bit of him insistently reminding himself of this fact for him to accept it, but the final death of Voldemort did more than remove an immediate threat. Whereas the end of the first war had allowed people to cautiously resume their normal lives, slowly picking up where they'd left off, the end of the second war seems to have brought a whole new breath of life to witches and wizards all over the country.

But even with all that's gone on in the past few months, with the progress made in wizarding law and the dawn of a brighter future, when the smoke of battle had cleared and the rubble littering the grounds of Hogwarts had been put back together, Harry was almost shocked to find that the world had not crumbled around him. After spending a month rebuilding the castle alongside his old professors and a handful of friends and classmates, he had returned to a world that was slowly picking itself up and moving on. It wasn't that people had forgotten what had happened; far from it, actually. They were cautious in changing the laws, in conducting trials, in ensuring that each person who had done wrong got their due.

With all the celebrations going on, though, Harry had known that he needed to get away for a bit, if only just to gather his head while things quieted down. Not least among his worries was figuring out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life now that he had completed what he'd always subconsciously assumed would be his final task. It felt like his entire life had been leading up to finishing the fight with Voldemort, like everything he'd believed in or stood for up to this point had been based on the assumption that he'd eventually have to make the ultimate sacrifice, and now he knew he needed some time to himself.

He'd wracked his brain for a way to get himself out of the spotlight for a bit, spent days brooding over it, but then one day, the solution had come to him as clearly as if he'd been staring at it all along. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It belonged to him now, didn't it? The wards on it were still heavy, so he wouldn't have to worry about reporters lurking on his front step. Honestly, as much as he resisted going to photo calls and giving interviews, it was the comments made by journalists that disturbed Harry the most. Being misquoted by Rita Skeeter was one thing, but one reporter's line that he would be a good candidate for Minister of Magic in a few years' time had nearly made him lose his breakfast all over Ron's shoes. But no one would be able to find him in the old Black house unless he personally told them how to.

So he had moved in, assuring Ron and Hermione and all his friends that they would be able to visit him to keep him from becoming a complete recluse. The first thing he had realised upon entering his new home, though, was that it needed some serious fixing up. The wallpaper was as peeling and shabby as ever before, the carpeting threadbare, the windows grimy and the decorations grotesque. On top of all that, everything seemed to be covered in a thick inch of dust.

He'd immediately set to work, with Kreacher's help, shooting _Scourgify_ charms wherever he could reach and stripping down the ancient tapestries to replace them with fresh paint in cheerful, inviting colours. This was no longer the headquarters of a huddled resistance army, and he intended to give it a complete turnaround. There was one thing, however, that he didn't seem to be able to remove.

The portrait of Sirius' mother remained as fixed to the wall as ever before, shrieking about filthy halfbloods besmirching the name of her ancestors as he hauled moulding mattresses and ancient sofas down the stairs and onto the street. Sometimes, when he woke from a nightmare or simply couldn't get to sleep, Harry would intentionally provoke her and scream back all his frustrations until he'd exhausted himself. The first time he'd done this, she'd seemed to be quite taken aback and had sat in her frame blinking at him silently as he yelled obscenities at her. After a few weeks of this, though, Harry thought she'd begun to rather enjoy the challenge, and it had become a sort of competition to see who could shriek loudest. Not that he's grown fond of her. She's a downright bloody nuisance, as a matter of fact, but he still hasn't managed to think of a single way to get rid of her.

Harry takes a deep breath, sipping at his coffee, the headache still building behind his eyes. He's been cooped up inside the house since Boxing Day because of a massive snowstorm and he's beginning to feel as though the only person he's spoken to lately is Walburga. He runs a weary hand through his hair and rises from his seat. Maybe a bit of fresh air will do him good. No one in the Muggle world knows him, and as long as he avoids Diagon Alley, he should be safe from overeager people wanting a moment of his time.

He sets down the coffee mug and moves into the front hall, careful not to make too much noise as he pulls on his jacket and boots; he's not in the mood for a screaming match just now and the last thing his headache needs is a shrieking portrait to make it even worse.

He pulls open the front door, wincing at the rush of cold air, but before he's made it more than a few steps down the path, he stops dead at what he sees in the street in front of him. Of all the unexpected visitors that Harry never thought he'd see again, this has to be the most shocking of all. Harry blinks once, twice, expecting the sight to go away, but no, there's no mistaking that white-blonde hair, even from a distance. Draco Malfoy is sitting on the curb in front of number eleven, knees pulled up to his chest, his head bowed against the icy wind. He shifts a bit as Harry watches him, curling in tighter to himself, the backs of his ears a bright, livid red. He just looks so small, like he's dangerously thin and pulled out, as bad as Harry remembers him looking in the last few months of the war, and Harry feels an inexplicable twinge of sadness run through him.

He walks quickly down the path to the street and comes to stand in front of Malfoy, staring down at him. The last time he'd spoken to the boy, Malfoy had been clinging tightly to his waist, hands slippery, shouting into his ear, terrified. Harry blinks and shakes his head in an attempt to banish the memory from his mind.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" he asks, and the other boy jumps a bit, looking up at him in surprise. Harry's vaguely reminded of the way Sirius looked when he was straight from Azkaban, his eyes hollowed out and his skin a sickly pale colour.

"Oh, Potter," Malfoy says, his voice a bit brittle. "Took you long enough to realise I was out here."

Harry shakes his head in confusion. "Why are you here?" he asks again, hands shoved in his pockets in a futile attempt to keep warm. Then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, "You must be freezing."

"Well, I thought it was obvious. I _was_ waiting for you," Malfoy says in a feeble aim at bitterness, but his voice doesn't seem to hold nearly as much malice as it once did, "but now that you're here, do you think maybe we could go inside? You may be used to living on the streets like an urchin, but I don't think I'll ever be properly warm again."

Harry rolls his eyes, and it's strange, but he doesn't feel as though he needs to be cautious of the other boy anymore. There's something about the way Malfoy is looking up at him hopefully that makes Harry think that maybe, just maybe, he isn't here to pick a fight. He sighs. "The residence of Harry James Potter is located at number twelve, Grimmauld Place," he recites mechanically, and Malfoy whips his head around as the old house grinds into view.

"You're your own secret keeper?" he asks sceptically, turning back to Harry with a raised eyebrow. "That doesn't seem very secure."

"Well, it's not as though I need much protection anymore, do I?" Harry asks, reaching down and grabbing Malfoy's bony hand to help pull him up, not really knowing why he does it. "I'm mostly hiding from reporters these days."

"Ah, yes," Malfoy says through chattering teeth as he follows Harry back up the path. "The famous Potter is as elusive as they come. How could I have forgotten?"

Harry ignores him, walking silently with his hat pulled over his ears, and he kicks his boots off when Malfoy closes the front door behind him. He turns to look at him, still confused as to what exactly is going on, watches him shrug out of his coat and notes absently just how hollowed out he looks. "Malfoy, you never actually said what you're doing here. In my home. In London. The last I heard, you weren't even in England," he says finally.

Malfoy shuffles a bit uncomfortably, and this is one of the few times that Harry's seen him at a loss for words. "Well," he says slowly, staring down at his wet shoes, "I was in America for a bit after the war ended. You know, letting things cool off some. Only, when I came back, there was just one thing I wanted to do."

"And that was…" Harry trails off, trying to get Malfoy to look up at him.

Malfoy takes a deep breath, like he's preparing himself to say something that's been eating away at him for a while, and when he finally _does_ meet Harry's eye, Harry's surprised to see that he looks nervous. He scratches at the back of his head, running a hand through his hair before speaking. "I don't often say this, but I wanted to thank you," he says, and Harry watches as a muscle in his jaw clenches a bit harder. "You know, for keeping me out of prison…you didn't have to say those things at my trial, and, I guess, it's thanks to you that I'm not wasting away in a cell right now."

Harry feels himself flush, and he kicks at an imaginary pebble with his toe. "I didn't do much," he says, staring down at the ground. "I just said my piece at your trial. You were there. You heard what I had to say. It was all true."

"I know it was. I just…you have a lot of sway right now, if you hadn't noticed," Malfoy says, surprisingly civil. "People listen to you. And it was good of you to speak up like that. I probably didn't deserve it."

Harry looks back up at him, studies him for a moment, calculating. "No, you probably didn't," he says after a beat. He hopes this conversation will take a turn. He feels like they're getting into dangerously heavy territory here, and it's all very foreign to him when it comes to Malfoy.

There's another awkward pause of silence before Malfoy speaks. "Just your hero complex acting up again, then?" he asks, his face pulling into a weak looking smirk. Harry's relieved to see that he seems to have closed himself off a bit. He's pretty sure he isn't ready to hash out their years of history right here, right now. "Typical."

"I don't have a hero complex," Harry grumbles, arguing back mostly out of habit.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "Well, that's a little piece of denial we'll save for another day," he says, pulling his shoulders a bit straighter. "Anyway, I'm really here because I refuse to remain indebted to anyone, especially you."

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. "And you plan on repaying that today?" he asks, unsure. "How?" What could Malfoy, of all people, possibly do for him?

"I was hoping you'd have something in mind," Malfoy says, looking around the foyer. Then, absently, he adds, "This place looks a lot different than it did the last time I was here."

"You've been here before?" Harry asks, surprised.

Malfoy fixes him with a cold look. "Yes, Potter, I've _been _here before. I would have inherited this house if it hadn't been for you," he says, frowning a bit.

"That's right, I'd forgotten," Harry says awkwardly, staring at a spot on the wall behind Malfoy's head. "Well, I don't know what kind of debt you expect to repay, but why don't we just call it good? I mean, you saved my life twice during the war. That's got to be enough to count us even."

"I can't just_ forget_ about it," Malfoy says a bit disdainfully. "It's a binding magical contract, and it's going to hang over my head until it's been closed out. No, of all people I could possibly be tied to, you're about the lowest on my list. At least let me do _something_."

Harry scratches at the back of his head a bit. "Well, there is one thing," he says slowly, not really sure what's making him voluntarily give Malfoy a reason to stay. "But I'm not sure if you'll be much help with it."

Malfoy nods once and begins to roll up his sleeves. "I'll give it a try. I just want this to be over with so I can leave here in peace, knowing I never have to see you again," he says. "What is it?"

But Harry's lost his train of thought. He stares at Malfoy's bare forearm, veins prominent under his nearly translucent skin, and his eyes fixate on the fading Dark Mark that stands out in bold against his white complexion. Harry feels the blood begin to pound harder in his ears, a lump forming in his throat, making it difficult to swallow.

"You didn't want it, did you?" he asks Malfoy, his voice coming out a bit strangled, even though he knows the answer before even speaking. "I mean, maybe at first, but once you realised…it was a mistake, right?"

Malfoy doesn't even have to ask what he's talking about, and his right hand quickly moves to cover the tattoo. Harry looks him in the eye, and the boy he sees staring back at him isn't the Malfoy that he used to think he hated. He's struck by how…just…_broken_ Malfoy really looks, all hollowed out, bony angles and sharp cheekbones. He knows now (and would have realised it sooner had he given Malfoy much thought since the war) that he never really hated him. No, hate is not the word he would use to describe his feelings toward Malfoy. Maybe, at one point, contempt, disdain, strong dislike, but never hate. Hate is an emotion that starts wars, that breaks people down and turns them to dust, that tears apart lives, that reaches into every crevice and digs out your humanity. But now, staring at the shell of the boy Malfoy used to be, he can't muster up any emotion except…pity.

Malfoy clears his throat pointedly, pulling Harry from his thoughts. "Yeah…er…well, you see, there's this portrait," Harry says quickly, avoiding Malfoy's gaze as he moves to stare at the curtains. "She's sort of fixed herself to the wall, and I've tried everything I can think of but…"

"No luck?" Malfoy finishes for him, raising an eyebrow as Harry shakes his head. "Well, I suppose I'll need my wand back if you expect me to be any help at all."

* * *

Several hours later, a very sweaty Harry and Malfoy slump against the wall, panting to catch their breath. They had taken turns hurling every conceivable hex, every curse they could think of, but even the few mildly illegal ones that Malfoy came out with had no effect. Druella just screamed on, this time about blood traitors and heirs who had been cheated out of an ancestral fortune that they didn't deserve to carry in the first place. Harry's face screws up against the noise, and he notices Malfoy shove his fingers in his ears as a fresh wave of shouting begins.

"THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK HAS BEEN BEFOULED BY A LOATHSOME EXCUSE FOR AN HEIR. CONSORTING WITH HALF BLOODS! BRINGING MUDBLO — "

Harry feels the skin on his neck turn red with a deep kind of anger as she shrieks on, and Malfoy's fists begin to ball up in fury. Without thinking much about it, they raise their wands together and shout "_REDUCTO_!" at the same instant, and are thrown backward into the opposite wall by the force of the blast from their spells.

A ringing silence follows. For a brief, horrible moment, Harry thinks he's gone deaf, but then he hears Malfoy groan next to him as they sit up and slump against the wall, shoulder to shoulder. Harry stares over at Malfoy's hair, wildly out of place, at his rumpled clothing, at the shocked look on his face, and then he looks to the wall. Where there had been a furious portrait just seconds before, there is now only a smoking hole leading into the kitchen, large enough for a man to climb through.

"Well," Malfoy says finally, his voice laced with an amused tone that Harry's never heard from him before, "I suppose we could always make it into a second door. Or a servant's entrance."

Harry snorts, then begins to laugh outright, and when Malfoy joins him, Harry abruptly realises that, for the first time in their lives, they're laughing _together_. "I guess this means I owe _you_ now," Harry says once they've slipped back into silence, a smile still lingering on his face. "What'll it be? My house elf? My Firebolt? My undying gratitude?"

Malfoy studies him for a moment, and Harry notices that his face looks much more pleasant when he's smiling rather than smirking. "I think some Firewhiskey should do it," he answers.

"To the kitchen then," Harry says, picking himself up off the floor and pulling Malfoy up after him. He leads the way through the hole in the wall, which brings on a whole new wave of laughter.

He doesn't know it yet, but it's already beginning; some sort of link is forming between them, healing them, making them whole again. It's small at first, but ever growing. Eventually, it will reach into every corner of their lives, working its way into the cracks between them until they're inextricably woven together. Over the next few weeks, Firewhiskey will become dinner, which will become Harry offering up his spare room, which will inevitably lead to breakfast. Eventually, Malfoy will become Draco, sporadically at first, and only when Harry's in a good mood, but ultimately the switch will become permanent, and they'll only use last names when joking or on the admittedly frequent occasions that they allow themselves to fall back into their habitual schoolboy squabbling. In time, they'll grow closer and closer and, after a rather concerted effort, they'll manage to convince their friends that they haven't gone mad. In the end, without intending to, it will be in a completely roundabout way, really, that Harry will discover that Malfoy steals all the blankets but curls so close in his sleep that it doesn't really matter.

In years to come, when Harry looks back on their relationship, he won't ever really be able to pinpoint the exact moment when things changed between them. There won't be any explosive, romantic catalyst, no heart wrenching confessions to bind them inextricably together, no snap of the sexual tension that's probably been building itself up for years. No, the truth is, they'll just sort of fall into a rhythm with each other, tumbling together through this strange new world where the old prejudices and bloodlines just don't seem to matter anymore.

Today, though, sitting at the kitchen table with Malfoy, so much history between them, Harry begins to feel something warm and unfamiliar curling in the pit of his stomach. He passes it off as a side effect of the Firewhiskey, but in reality, somewhere in a hidden little corner of his mind, he knows, even at eighteen, that it's the start of something permanent.

* * *

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**A/N:** I hope you liked the first chapter. Please Review! :)


	2. 20 November, 1999

_I See That You've Come So Far (This Feels Like Falling In Love)_

20 November, 1999

A shrieking wail pierces the night air, jerking Harry from sleep. He groans and pulls a pillow over his head, trying to block the noise out. It's been nearly a month since he's had a full night's sleep, and to be honest, he needs some rest. Quidditch trials for the English National Team have just ended, and the exhaustion he feels in his bones is thick like molasses, deep-set to the point where he's not sure if he'll ever be properly awake again. He burrows further into the blankets as he feels the bed shift next to him, and his sluggish brain thinks that maybe, if he covers himself in enough of the thick fabric, he'll be able to ignore the crying and get back to sleep. Just as he's about to drift off again, though, the quilt is ripped from his face and a hand comes down hard on his backside.

"Put some pants on, Potter," Draco's voice grunts at him, and he feels a pair of pyjamas collide with the back of his head. "He'll be in here in a moment."

Harry groans again and rolls over, wincing at the tight muscles in his arms and legs. He fumbles blindly for his glasses on the bedside table and shoves them on his face, glaring up at Draco's outline, just barely illuminated by the faint, pre-dawn light coming in from the window of the bedroom.

"Can't we just lock his door at night?" Harry asks, only half joking, as he pulls the pants on without getting up. "That's what my aunt and uncle did when I was a kid."

He can just scarcely see one of Draco's eyebrows raise toward his hairline as he climbs back into the bed. "Oh, yes, and you're very well adjusted," he says, his voice dripping in a kind of sneering sarcasm that normally wouldn't bother Harry, but just now, when the dial on the clock has barely made it to morning and the birds haven't even begun to sing, he doesn't think he's quite in the mood for Draco's sometimes tiresome personality.

"Shut up," Harry huffs, rolling over so his back's to Draco and punching his pillow back into shape rather violently. "You know, I really can't stand you sometimes."

Draco mumbles something to himself, and Harry distinctly catches the words _'didn't mind me too much a few hours ago,'_ and _'no one's paying you to actually stay,'_ and he knows he's being unreasonable because he's exhausted and irritable, but he feels a hot thrill of anger run through him.

"_What_ did you just say to me?" he asks, sitting up too quickly, his head going a bit light with the rush of blood. "I believe this is _my_ house, Malfoy."

"Only on paper," Draco says, his voice cold and defiant.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Unbelievable. Not this again," he says, exasperated. "Look, I let you into this house and I can put you out again just as easily."

"You wouldn't dare," Draco scoffs, flopping back into his pillows and making himself comfortable in an obvious, challenging sort of way.

"Oh, I wouldn't?" Harry asks, though he knows Draco's right. "You just watch me. One more word, I swear."

They've been fighting more than usual lately, their tempers rising quicker than they normally would, and the constant bickering is starting to grate on Harry's nerves. For one thing, their insults aren't nearly as clever as they once were, as there's no real animosity between them anymore, but more importantly than that, it's making his life very unpleasant. The spats that keep coming up are over pointless little things, things that normally wouldn't even bother Harry, but they've both had so much dumped on them recently, had so much extra stress added to their lives, that it's hard not to vent their building frustrations at each other.

It had all started up roughly a month ago, when Harry had gotten a Floo call one morning from a very distraught looking Mr Weasley. He and Draco had been sitting in the large kitchen of Number Twelve, eating breakfast quietly, Draco occasionally snorting to himself before reading aloud the long and flowery articles written in the _Daily Prophet_ about Harry in a simpering voice. Harry lobbed bits of toast across the table at him whenever he did this, and Draco, with an amused smile on his face, would continue to read as he ducked the flying food, his voice growing more and more shrill as he went on. It had all been very normal for them until the loud chime announced the call.

Harry, still laughing in spite of himself, looked over at the fireplace, which had just roared to life. "Oh, hello, Mr Weasley," he said cheerfully, but his smile faded a bit when he saw the look on the other man's face. "What's wrong?"

"Yes, good morning, Harry…Draco…" Mr Weasley said distractedly. "I'm afraid I've got a bit of bad news for you."

Harry suddenly felt his heart sink horribly, and he lowered his teacup, glancing at Draco. He knew they were both thinking the same thing. Though it had been more than a year since the end of the war, most of those who had actually fought in it still had irrational bouts of paranoia every now and again, fearing that somehow…some way…it was all going to happen over again. If it did…well, it would be bad for Harry, obviously, but it would be worse, far worse, for Draco and his family, who had defected at the last moment.

"It's not…is it?" Harry asked, his voice suddenly a bit fainter than usual. "But it can't be…"

"No, no, it's not that," Mr Weasley said hurriedly, shaking his head and giving them both a very remorseful look. "No, but it's…this isn't easy to tell you…I know you had all grown quite close..."

Harry wanted to shout at him to spit it out already, but he held his tongue. Though he felt a sliver of relief at the reassurance that it wasn't Voldemort, there was still a strong sense of foreboding curling in his stomach at the look in Mr Weasley's eyes.

"I'm afraid that…well, I suppose…yes, it's easier if I just tell you…but maybe I should wait until later in the day…" he went on, still fumbling with his words.

"For Merlin's sake," Draco said, clearly trying to sound frustrated, though his voice was shaking a bit with nerves, and Harry noticed his knuckles had gone very white where they were still gripping the paper. "Just say it, will you?"

"Yes, of course," Mr Weasley replied, nodding his head. "Better to hear it from me, I suppose. Boys, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but it's Andromeda…she's had an accident. They've just finished transporting her to St Mungo's."

Harry's mouth went a bit dry. "And Teddy?" he asked, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Is he alright?"

"Oh, yes, he's fine, just a bit shaken up I think," Mr Weasley replied, attempting to look reassuring. "But I'm not so sure about Andromeda…she was messed up pretty badly when I saw her."

Draco shook his head, as if he were trying to make sense of what he was hearing. "But what happened?" he asked, his brow knitting in confusion. "She's not clumsy or anything, I mean to say. And she's never been involved in anything dangerous, not as far as I know."

"Well, they're not quite sure at the moment, but they think it may have just been an ordinary Muggle explosion. A gas line or something like it. I'm working on sorting it all out," Mr Weasley said before looking over his shoulder and saying something to someone on his side. When he turned back to them, it was with a slightly less distressed expression. "She's just woken up. Harry, she's asking for you. You should get there as quickly as you can. I'm sorry, but I've got to go. Very busy here…"

"Yeah, we won't keep you," Harry said, his mind racing as Mr Weasley disappeared and the fireplace went dark again. What if it _was_ something serious? But it couldn't be too bad, could it? Harry had been around magic long enough to know that witches and wizards didn't start dying of natural causes until they were well into their second century of life, and anything…well, anything other than a powerful curse…could be fixed by the Healers at St Mungo's, couldn't it? He'd seen people cured of things that Muggle doctors would have been at a loss over. For Merlin's sake, he'd had his whole _arm_ grown back overnight once. What could possibly be bad enough to cause Mr Weasley to look so worried?

"Harry," Draco said quietly, pulling him out of his thoughts by placing a hand on Harry's arm. "We should get dressed and go. It sounds like it could be bad."

Harry nodded vaguely, and pushed away from the table to follow Draco back up the stairs. He was silent all the way up, and Draco kept throwing uneasy looks over his shoulder at him, clearly worried.

"She'll probably be fine," Draco said as they got ready to go, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "I doubt it's anything the Healers can't fix."

* * *

When they arrived at the hospital a short time later, though, it quickly became apparent that the accident was not a minor one. After being directed to Andromeda's wing by a rather star-struck looking witch at the help desk, they reached the fourth floor to find a scene of chaos unfolding before their eyes. Harry took a quick step backward into Draco as a man rushed past, looking frazzled, and Draco had to catch himself on the door of the lift to keep the both of them from toppling over.

"I think it's this way," Harry said, looking in the direction from which the man had just come. "C'mon."

As they walked toward the room, a heavy feeling of dread curling in Harry's stomach, he felt one of Draco's hands press lightly into the small of his back. This was a rather uncharacteristic display of public affection, but when Harry glanced sideways at him, a bit surprised, it was clear from the expression on his face that Draco probably needed just as much reassurance as Harry did. Although they had been very careful over the past year to ensure that their personal lives were kept from the public (for more reasons than one), Harry wrapped an arm around Draco's shoulders and, without any hesitation, pulled him a bit closer as they walked past a group of Healers and into the room.

The sight that met their eyes was, at the very least, unexpected. Andromeda was lying on a bed, nearly unrecognisable, her face battered and bloody, a flock of Mediwizards fluttering about her bed in a whirl of monogrammed robes and waving wands, all muttering to each other worriedly. As Draco pulled one of them aside to ask for details on what had happened, Harry hurried over to the rather exhausted looking Ministry witch who was trying very hard to cling to a struggling, bawling Teddy.

"Nana!" shrieked the squirming toddler. "I want Nana!"

The witch looked up and noticed Harry standing over them and pushed her frazzled hair out of her eyes. "He hasn't stopped screaming for her since we brought them here," she said, her expression slightly crazed. "Are you family?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm his godfather," he said, reaching to take Teddy from her arms. "Here, let me help. Was he with her when the accident happened?"

The witch nodded, pulling a crumpled piece of parchment from her bag and reading from it. "They say he was found nearly 300 feet from the site, though. Must have been accidental magic. Instinct, you know. Unfortunately, I think everything happened too quickly for her to react." She nodded toward Andromeda's bed, and Harry felt the tightness in his heart get worse when he caught Draco's eye. Draco shook his head once, lips tight, a worried look on his face.

"And they've checked to make sure he wasn't hurt?" Harry asked, bouncing Teddy on his hip, trying to ease his crying. "What exactly happened?"

"I only know what they've told me," the witch said, rising from her seat. "I'm from the Department for the Aid of Magical Children. The Ministry sent me over to collect Theodore in the event of…well, you know. Just in case."

Harry instinctively took a step backward, clutching Teddy tighter to his body. "Collect him?" he asked, alarmed. "What does that mean, collect him?"

The Ministry witch took a deep breath, and it looked as though she regretted needing to tell him this. "In the event of the death of Mrs Tonks, his last surviving immediate family member, the Ministry feels it best that he go into the care of a qualified foster family," she said carefully, not quite meeting his eye.

"But I'm his godfather!" Harry said a bit too loudly, and Teddy, who had only just stopped crying, started up again, kicking his legs at Harry's stomach. Images of his own childhood began to resurface: growing up without a connection to his past, not knowing who he was until it was almost too late, being raised without even knowing his parent's names. "His parents wanted me to be there for him if something happened. I should be the one taking care of him."

"Well, yes, that was their wish," she said, shifting a bit uncomfortably. Harry noticed her eyes flick over his shoulder to where he knew Draco was standing, just out of earshot. "But you're very young, and in light of your…erm…well, with your current living situation being as it is, the Ministry feels that the child should be brought up away from, shall we say…any _negative _influences."

Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought the lights in the room flickered a bit as he felt a surge of anger run through him. It appeared that he and Draco had not been as careful about their relationship as they'd thought, and the Ministry was, once again, poking its nose where it didn't belong. He was about to open his mouth to argue when a faint voice made everyone in the room stop what they were doing and turn.

"Stop," Andromeda said weakly from her bed. "Harry, come here."

An abused looking hand reached from under the blankets to grasp his when he reached the bed and he awkwardly shifted Teddy so he could take hold of it. What he could see of Andromeda's face seemed to be twisted up into a faint smile. Draco came to stand next to him, looking down at his aunt with a distressed expression on his face. Harry could tell what he was thinking. Draco had only just begun to know Andromeda and now, after they'd all lost so many people, just when they'd thought things could be peaceful, they may lose another.

"I've watched the two of you grow so much over the last year," she said, her voice already becoming more distant, "and I'm immensely proud of you both. You're so brave, and I know you'll grow into incredible men in years to come."

"Don't," Draco said, his voice a bit choked. "Don't say goodbye. You'll be just fine."

Andromeda shook her head on the pillow, her eyes falling closed for a moment. "I'm glad that I was finally able to know you," she told him warmly, a smile on her face. "Tell your mother I hold no grudge."

Draco nodded silently, but didn't speak. Harry, for his part, was at a total loss for words. He had never been very good with tragedy, not when there was nothing he could do to help the situation, and he absently rubbed Teddy's back with his free hand, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Teddy, who seemed scared by the sight of his grandmother lying broken on the bed, had hidden his face in Harry's neck, still sniffling.

"If you two think you're ready for it, I will insist that Teddy come to live with you," Andromeda said, bringing Harry back to ground. "I sincerely hope you are, but if not, he'll go to live with a family until you are ready."

"Of course we'll take him," Harry said quickly, glancing at the Ministry witch who was standing close by. "I won't let him grow up like I did. He'll know his place in the world."

Draco's eye caught his in the moment of silence that followed this proclamation, and Harry saw that he looked unsure. They _were_ young, after all, and though they'd both gotten to know Teddy over the past year, taking care of a child full time was a huge responsibility. It seemed that Draco was itching to be the voice of reason to Harry's tendency to recklessly jump into situations with both feet, but now, when Andromeda was lying on a hospital bed in front of them, already looking drained of life, it was not the time.

"We'll do it," Harry said again, more firmly, but this time it was directed more toward Draco than Andromeda.

After that, things seemed to pass in a bit of a blur. The Ministry witch bustled over with a thick stack of papers for them to sign, and, in what seemed to be a heart-wrenchingly short amount of time, Andromeda faded away. Harry was left with an empty feeling and a deep kind of sadness for Teddy. The little boy had lost so much in such a short amount of time, and Harry felt his resolve strengthen that this would be the last loss he'd have to suffer. As he passed Teddy over to Draco for a moment so he could stretch out his back, he knew they would get through this, that they'd be okay. If they could put to rest years of bitter rivalry and grow as close as they had over the past year, what was stopping them from conquering this as well?

* * *

A month on, though, and Harry has to admit that it's proven to be more of a challenge than either of them expected. Teddy has been through a lot and hasn't slept through the night since they brought him home. The stress of lost sleep and childcare has taken a lot out of them and definitely put a strain on their relatively new relationship.

Harry has found himself thinking lately, rather selfishly, that he wishes he and Draco could have had a bit more time together, just the two of them. When they'd taken Teddy in, Draco had just begun to recover from the physical and mental torture he'd suffered during and after the war. He no longer looked sickly or bony, his cheeks had more colour in them than Harry could remember ever seeing, his cruel smirks had been more or less replaced with happy smiles and real, genuine laughter, and they'd nearly stopped bickering over little things. Now, though, Harry thinks, he's lucky if he gets in five hours of sleep at a time, lucky to have any sort of alone time with Draco, especially now that Quidditch training has been going on.

He doesn't necessarily regret his decision. He just wishes he'd been more prepared for what they were getting themselves into. Practically adopting a toddler has proven to be much more of an ordeal than they'd expected, and it's been tough.

Harry stares down at Draco in the dark room, frustration still balling up in his stomach at the sight of the blonde man looking at him defiantly from his comfortable position in bed, and he's about to continue the argument they'd been having when he hears the bedroom door creak open and the quiet sounds of sniffling drift in from the hall. Harry reaches for his wand on the bedside table and casts a bit of light on the small figure standing in the doorway.

"Hey Teddy," he says, his voice tired, though a good deal kinder than before. "Did you have a bad dream again?"

Teddy nods, clutching tightly to his blanket, his eyes stung red with tears. He watches apprehensively as Draco also sits up and looks over at him. Something in Draco's expression seems to ease his worries, though, and he points a shaking finger at the two of them. "Bed?" he asks around the thumb in his mouth.

Draco runs a weary hand through his hair. "Yeah," he says, and though Harry can hear a resigned tone in his voice, he pats the mattress in between their bodies. "Come on."

Teddy scrambles across the room as fast as his small legs can carry him and allows Draco to lift him up and settle him down under the blankets. Harry feels Teddy's head nudge against his shoulder as he wriggles into the warm space between them, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face before he can help it.

"Unca Harry?" Teddy asks around a huge yawn.

Harry wraps an arm around him and nudges Draco's foot at the end of the bed with one of his own. "Yeah, Ted?"

"We make breakfast?" he asks, and his voice sounds hopeful.

Harry lets out a quiet, exhausted sounding laugh, shaking his head. "When the sun comes up," he says, though he knows Teddy will probably be squirming and restless before then.

His eyes meet Draco's over the little boy's head, and he smiles faintly. _I'm sorry_, he mouths, and Draco nods his head, smiling back and letting his eyes fall closed as Teddy rolls away from Harry to curl into a ball between them. Though he's exhausted, frustrated, and irritable to an alarming degree these days, whenever the three of them share these quiet little moments together, Harry can't help but feel they made the right decision. While it may have torn other couples apart, and has certainly caused them to fight more than normal, the stress and responsibility that Teddy has brought with him seems to have pulled them closer together. Harry watches as Draco pulls the blanket tight over Teddy, and something in his heart seems to grow warmer.

"I love you," he hears himself mutter. It's the first time he's said it, and it hadn't been entirely thought out; the words seem to have come out of their own accord.

Draco hums tiredly and a smile spreads across his face, his hand reaching over Teddy to take hold of one of Harry's. "Of course you do, Potter," he says as Teddy shifts a bit. Harry rolls his eyes and kicks at Draco, trying not to wake the sleeping boy, but Draco squeezes his hand and catches his eye again. "I love you too, by the way, in case you were wondering," he says, his voice still hushed.

They're silent after that, and as Harry begins to drift back to sleep, he can't help but think how strange his life is turning out. The three of them, lying here in bed together in the early hours of the morning. It feels almost like a family. He knows that Teddy will be awake again very soon and that Draco will huff about not getting enough sleep and that he'll feel dead on his feet as he makes the coffee, but he also knows that nothing is going to make him want to give any of this up. Though they haven't had any sort of in depth discussion about their future yet, Harry can tell they're in this for the long-haul, and, as much as that realisation should probably terrify him, it might be exactly what he needs.

* * *

**A/N:** Let me know what you think! :) Review! _Pleeeease_.


	3. 3 July, 2000

**A/N:** Just so you all know, I've started back at school, so updates won't be quite as frequent. I won't give up on this, though! I promise! This is what I get for going to uni in America, where they start in August. I should have just stayed at home! All my friends from England don't have to go back until September. :(

_For the Rest of My Life (We'll Dance Through the Night)_

3 July, 2000

Harry paces the length of the small room, barely stopping to glance at his reflection in the mirror, his hands absently fidgeting with the collar of his dress robes. His heart is pounding in his chest, his mind racing, and he pulls his wand from his inside pocket and twirls it between his fingers to give himself something to do, an outlet to stop his hands from compulsively smoothing his lapels.

"I don't know _what_ I'm thinking, getting into this," he's saying as he paces back and forth. "This is mad! Honestly, I don't know why you didn't stop me years ago. I just can't go through with this. I mean, everyone's down there, and they're all waiting, and it's just going to be a huge disaster."

"Whoa, Harry, mate, slow down," Ron says, ducking as Harry begins talking with his hands, the wand that's still in his hand shooting off a stream of sparks that narrowly avoids Ron's ear. "Hermione won't thank you for taking my head off."

"This is all just so insane," Harry continues as though Ron hasn't spoken. "It'll never last. We're just too different. There's no way. And besides, Teddy will never keep his dress robes clean. He'll be covered in mud by noon, so there's really no point in all that. I'm too young for this. I mean, really, what were you thinking, letting me do this?"

Ron, who has plucked the wand from Harry's hand and crossed to peer out the window at the assembly of people on the lawn below, turns as Harry's rambling speech comes to an abrupt halt. "Oh, is it my turn to speak, then?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Harry huffs and turns toward the mirror, running a hand over his ever-messy hair. "I just don't think I can do this," he says, shaking his head and looking to Ron's reflection over his shoulder, unsure.

"Well, you can't back out now," Ron says, glancing out the window again. "Face it. You're getting married."

Harry's heart does a funny somersault at the word, and his stomach jumps into his throat. He swallows thickly. "I'm no good at all this, though," he says, his voice tight. "What if I forget the words or he doesn't show up or —"

But Ron holds up a hand, cutting him off. "Look, Harry, I know I didn't like all this at first," he starts, crossing the room and turning Harry around so he can fix his tie. "But it's been nearly _two_ _years_ now, and I've never seen you happier. So you're going to stop your whinging and get out there. If I have to put on this ridiculous suit and talk you down, there better at least be some best manning for me to do once it's all said and done."

Harry nods, but he knows he's probably still looking pale. Just then, Hermione sticks her head in the room, looking beautiful with her hair pulled up and dotted with tiny yellow flowers. "Is he ready then?" she asks Ron. "Pansy's only just finished calming Draco down, and I think we've got a few minutes to get this over with before they both work themselves back up again. These two are unbelievable, honestly."

"I'm standing right here," Harry says, waving his hand at her slightly.

"Yes, hello, Harry. I see you," Hermione says, smiling at him as though he were a child. "You look lovely. Now let's get going, shall we? The ceremony was supposed to start ten minutes ago."

Ron grabs Harry's shoulders forcefully and shakes him a bit, and Harry is strongly reminded of a boxer being readied for a fight. "Come on, mate, you can do this," Ron says, turning him around and pushing him toward the door. "This is what you want, so stop being a git and just do it already."

"Oh, that's _very_ nice, Ronald," Hermione says sarcastically as they make their way down the stairs and out the door.

Harry almost wishes he wasn't so nervous right now, because he wants to be able to appreciate the beauty of his wedding without his stomach churning with snakes every time he looks at a flower arrangement. The ceremony and reception are being held on the large, sloping lawn of a cheerful old mansion in Sussex. To be honest, the place is really more like a small castle, with its grounds filled with ponds and dotted with forests. The heady smell of summer hangs thick in the air as they exit through the back door, and Harry can hear the soft babble of their assembled family and friends in the distance. His heart seems to pound faster as they draw closer, Ron occasionally giving him a push in the right direction.

When they reach the end of the aisle and Hermione hurries to find her seat at the front, a hush seems to go around the group and everyone turns together to stare at him. Harry feels as though his legs have turned to lead as Teddy scrambles over to them, looking important in his dress robes and tie. Harry smiles down at him weakly.

"You ready, little man?" Harry asks him, trying hard to force his voice to sound normal. "Remember what you're supposed to do?"

"Uncle Draco!" Teddy says happily, swinging the ring pillow in one hand as he points down the aisle.

Harry follows his finger to where Draco is standing at the altar, his dress robes crisp as he pulls at the cuffs of his sleeves. Harry feels his heart stop for the briefest of moments, but then Draco looks up and sees him there, meeting his eye, and the grin that spreads across Draco's face is all the reassurance he needs. He takes a deep breath, feeling his heart rate slow down, the rolling of his stomach finally taking a break.

"I'm ready," he says to Ron, nodding his head once. "I can do this."

"You sure?" Ron asks, looking as though he thinks might need to push Harry in the direction of the altar again.

"Yeah. Let's go," Harry says, not taking his eyes off Draco's.

He's sure the music kicks up as he starts down the aisle, but he doesn't really hear it. His ears seem to be filled with a faint sort of buzzing noise that is urging him forward, his feet moving of their own accord, no longer heavy. When he reaches the altar, Draco's smile turns into a bit of a smirk.

"You're lucky I like you, Potter," he says, swaying closer to whisper in Harry's ear. "Give you an evil wizard and you're fine, no problem. Come time to marry me, though, and it takes Weasley an hour to talk you out of the room."

"From what I hear, you had your own problems, Malfoy," Harry laughs, squeezing Draco's hand. "I bet Pansy talked herself hoarse just to get you here."

Just then, the ceremony begins, but most of it is a blur to Harry. His mind is a whirl of happy thoughts, marvelling at the fact that the two of them are here right now, that they've come to this point in their lives where there's no more fighting, no more rivalry, no more animosity. It's just the two of them and Teddy, his life better than he ever imagined it could be. As the time for their vows comes around, Harry feels Draco squeeze at his fingers a bit, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Draco bends to take one of the rings from Teddy's pillow, winking at him as he does so and ruffling the little boy's hair. As he straightens up and meets Harry's eyes again, Teddy grins at his job well done.

"You had just turned eleven when we first met, and I'm afraid I rather made a fool of myself," Draco begins, pausing as a quiet laugh goes around the gathering of their friends and family. "I remember how small you looked, swallowed alive by those huge clothes, but there was something about you, even then, that I think I picked up on. I'm not sure what it was, but I do know that ever since then, you've been the person I turn to when I need to get something off my chest. For a lot of years, that meant you were a target for me, but now, after all we've been through, I've learned that it's much better when I come to you for support instead. We're so strong together, and I just know that no matter what happens, we'll be able to make it work. Harry, I love you, with all my heart."

He slips the thick band onto Harry's left ring finger, letting his hand linger there for a moment. Harry smiles at him like he can't quite believe he's real, and he's lost again for a moment until Draco clears his throat.

"It's your turn," he says, and everyone laughs again.

Harry feels himself go red. "Right, sorry. Well, I'm not sure what to say that I haven't already told you a thousand times, but here goes. When I was growing up, I never had much of a family, and I used to wish that someone would come to find me and give me one. As I started to get older, it seemed like my prayers had finally been answered. I had a group of friends that got to be close enough that they felt like they _were_ my family. But…even with all that…I still felt like I was missing something." He pauses and glances down at their joined hands, sees the ring on his finger, and feels a jolt of courage run through him before he continues on. "Then one day, nearly two years ago, you just showed up out of nowhere. You forced your way into my life like you'd always belonged there, and you haven't left since. To be honest, I didn't even realise we were together until there was no looking back. But the thing is, being with you, having you by my side…it's easy. After all we've been through, we just sort of fit together now in a way that I never thought was possible. The past two years with you have been the happiest of my life, and I can't wait to see what the next hundred brings us as a family. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that I love you. And I'll be here by your side for the rest of my life."

Now that the most nerve-wracking part of the day has ended and the ring is placed securely on Draco's finger, Harry's ears seem to clear out and he can hear, as though for the first time, the sniffling of the people in the crowd, the chirping of the birds in the trees around them, the words of the tiny old wizard who's marrying them.

"Do you, Draco Lucius," he's saying, "take Harry James to be your partner in this life, bonded forever in harmony?"

Draco gives him the smallest of winks and squeezes his hands, the smile on his face spreading even wider. "I do," he says quietly, nodding his head.

"And do you, Harry James, take Draco Lucius to be _your_ partner in this life, bonded forever in harmony?" the wizard asks again.

Harry takes a deep breath. This is it; this is the moment everything has been leading up to. Two small words and his life will forever be unalterably changed. This is the ultimate plunge into the unknown, into the part of him that he never saw coming, that no one ever even expected. But as all this runs through his head, Harry realises that it isn't really the unknown anymore, that he doesn't _care_ what's been expected for them. They've battled through so much, the two of them, and it's high time they finally get what they want, time for Harry to claim his reward. He steadies himself, holding tightly to Draco's hands.

"I do," he says, and it feels as though an explosion has gone off in his chest.

The batty old wizard smiles at the two of them, raising his wand. "I now pronounce you bonded for life," he says, and as Draco pulls Harry forward with a delighted grin on his face a whirl of golden stars wraps around their bodies. Harry cracks open an eye to watch, pulling out of the kiss as he begins to laugh at the sight of it all.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the old wizard says once the sparks have faded away and the clapping has mostly stopped. "For the first time, I present to you, Harry and Draco Malfoy-Potter."

* * *

The next hour or so is a happy whirl of congratulations and kind words by family and friends. Harry stands with Draco through it all, an arm wrapped around his waist as though it's always been there, and he can't help but feel as though this day is very near perfect. There are a few noticeable absences in the crowd that give Harry a brief sombre pause when he realises that Fred, Remus, Moody…so many will never be able to see the joyous world that they sacrificed for. Lucius Malfoy is not present either, which doesn't really surprise Harry, though he knows Draco is quietly upset about it. Though Lucius has never been outwardly spiteful toward Harry since the end of the war, mostly because he knows it's unwise in the current political climate, he's never been more than distant when Draco brings him around.

Teddy runs over to them as the last of the congratulators are trickling away to get food, and Draco bends to swing the little boy up into his arms. "Hey, Teddy," he says happily, rubbing his thumb over a spot of dirt on his collar. "What do you think? Hmm? How'd it go?"

Teddy reaches up to tug hard at the ends of Draco's hair, one of his chubby fingers accidentally stabbing Draco in the eye. "Wand made pretty light," Teddy says happily, his hair flashing golden for a brief moment.

"It's getting late," Harry says, fidgeting with Teddy's collar. "Whenever his colours start changing like that it means he's getting tired. Maybe we should get him to the Burrow so he can sleep. We don't want him to get too fussy."

They're leaving Teddy with the Weasleys for a long week so they can have a proper honeymoon, and though Harry's excited about it and knows Mr and Mrs Weasley will take care of him as though he were their own, he can't help worrying about it. Teddy hasn't spent more than a night away from them since last year, and it's only been in the last three or four months that he's stopped having nightmares.

"Stop being such a mother hen," Draco tells him, shifting Teddy a little so that he can't reach his face anymore. "Let the boy have a bit of fun. He'll be fine."

Mrs Weasley bustles over to them just then, all smiles and tears still glistening in her eyes. "Oh, Harry, dear, I'm so proud of you," she says for the umpteenth time that day, wiping an imaginary smudge from his cheek. "And Draco, welcome to the family. How's our boy doing?"

"Harry's worrying of course, but he's just fine, aren't you Teddy?" Draco asks, beaming down at the little boy.

It had taken a while for Draco to adjust to being so familiar with the Weasleys, but over time, he's risen to it magnificently, Harry thinks. Any lingering animosity between Ron and Draco is mostly carried off as a joke, and for Mrs Weasley's part, Harry's pretty sure it's impossible to resist her mothering and happy outlook. They're the closest thing he has to a proper family, Harry had told Draco when they'd first gotten together, and it's been very important to him over the years to ensure that Draco got along with the lot of them.

"Here, I'll take him," Mrs Weasley says, reaching to pull Teddy from Draco's arms gently. "Give the happy couple a moment to themselves, shall we?"

Not long after that, they're urged onto the dance floor by Hermione, who seems to have taken it upon herself to ensure that the entire evening goes off without a hitch. As they sway in a circle, everyone gathered around them and watching with smiles on their faces, Draco turns his head so his lips are pressed to the shell of Harry's ear.

"I love you," he whispers, and Harry can feel his lips curling upward into a wry smirk. "And I intend to prove it over and over tonight."

Harry feels a hot thrill run through him and he presses closer into Draco, humming his agreement. "Stop it," Harry scolds, though he doesn't really mean it. "Your mother is watching."

Draco laughs quietly, pressing a kiss into Harry's temple, and they're silent for a moment, just enjoying each other, minds wandering. "I have a surprise for you," he says after a while as more people begin to dance.

"Oh, you do?" Harry asks, his mind foggy.

"Mmm. This house?" Draco says, his hand pressing firmly into the small of Harry's back, tugging him even closer. "It's ours. My little wedding present to us."

Harry pulls back just enough so he can meet Draco's eye. He pauses there for a moment, searching for something, then his face splits into a grin and he laughs, pressing his forehead to Draco's. "You're incredible," Harry says, barely above a whisper. "Really, you are. I love you."

And as Draco pulls him into a kiss, images of a newly possible, beautiful, previously unimaginable future flash before his eyes. Lazy afternoons spent exploring the grounds, the springtime bloom of flowers exploding into colour before them, watching Teddy grow up in this place, growing old, impossibly happy. Harry holds tightly to Draco, his mind still whirling with happy thoughts, and he can't help but think he's the luckiest man in the world.


	4. 17 July, 2001

_Close Your Eyes, Your Daddy's Here (You Are My Heaven)_

17 July, 2001

A hand connects sharply with the side of Harry's face, jerking him awake. He rolls over in bed with a groan and presses his forehead into Draco's shoulder blade, his eyes closed. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to stop himself from falling back asleep.

"Why did you just slap me?" he mutters finally, his hand moving up Draco's back slowly.

Draco grunts into the pillow. "The baby…'s your turn," he says, half-asleep.

Harry grumbles something incoherent, moving to bury his face in the crook of Draco's neck, arm slipping up over his back and around his waist. He doesn't want to get up just yet. Everything is so warm and comfortable here. Maybe if he can just…

"No," Draco says as their legs tangle at the bottom of the bed.

Harry hums into the side of his neck, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. "What?" he asks, feigning innocence.

"I know you, Potter," Draco tells him, and Harry can almost hear his eyes rolling. "You're going to cozy up to me until I offer to go instead."

Harry laughs quietly as he runs his hand slowly down to hook his fingertips under the hem of Draco's pants. "I wouldn't do something like that."

"Of course you wouldn't," Draco says sarcastically. "You forget who you're talking to. I _invented_ this game."

"Fine," Harry huffs, biting down once on Draco's collarbone before pulling back and rolling over. "I'm going."

He drags himself out of bed, still only semiconscious, and runs a weary hand through his hair. Rubbing his face exhaustedly, he begins to shuffle toward the bedroom door, glasses dangling limply from his left hand. He shoves them on his face as he goes, blinking a few times to adjust his eyes. Dim moonlight is streaming in through the windows, just barely casting a silver glow on everything, and he has to fumble a bit before he finds the latch. After a year of living in this house, he's mostly gotten used to all its odd creaks and groans, and he's pretty much figured out where things are, but just now, when he's exhausted tired at three in the morning, on his way to tend to a screaming baby, he's not quite on the top of his game.

Now that he's out in the corridor, though, he's not quite sure how he managed to sleep over the noise. He pads the familiar stretch of hall quickly and creaks open the door as quietly as possible. He needn't have tried to keep it down, though. The little boy is lying in his cot, screaming as if there's no tomorrow. Harry screws his face up against the noise as he crosses the room and lifts the baby into his arms.

"Shh, it's alright," he coos, holding him close to his chest, a hand on the back of his head as he bounces around a bit. "It's okay. Daddy's here."

He keeps shushing the boy, pacing circles around the room with him until his crying finally slows down a bit. The baby buries his face in Harry's shoulder, still sniffling, and Harry carries him across the room to sink down into the rocking chair in the corner.

"You've got a nice set of lungs on you, James," he mumbles softly as he moves to cradle the baby in his lap, pulling the blanket from his shoulder to wrap it tightly around him.

He stares down at James with a small smile on his face, rocking the chair back and forth slowly. Despite his rather superhuman ability to make himself heard in every corner of the house, the little boy is flawless. With his smooth dark hair that's just beginning to come in, his crystal blue eyes, and his vaguely Malfoy-shaped nose, there's no denying that he's a perfect mix between the two of them. Harry remembers when they first found out about the new potion that had come onto the market.

It allowed children to be grown at St Mungo's, closely monitored by Healers, and through samples taken from both he and Draco, James was entirely their son. It had been expensive, of course…shockingly so, as a matter of fact, but it had been worth every Galleon. Draco had been skeptical at first, wrinkling his nose and saying that the whole thing sounded a bit too clinical, but Harry had firmly reminded him that he'd never wanted anything more than he'd wanted a family, and that had been that.

Despite Draco's initial reservations, the first time they had held James, the first time they'd seen him…it had felt like coming home. Teddy had been curious and a bit suspicious of the new addition to their family, and he had stared, wide eyed, at the baby for the first few weeks, a little too afraid to speak to it. After a while, of course, he'd warmed up to his new cousin, and Harry still gets a warm feeling in his heart when he watches Teddy playing quietly with the baby.

He lets his head fall back as he continues to rock James, his eyes drifting shut. He hums softly to himself, just a quiet, tuneless little lullaby, and listens to the baby gurgling sleepily. In spite of the rather uncomfortable chair and the cold floor beneath his feet, Harry feels himself start to float off back to sleep.

* * *

He wakes several hours later to James kicking and screaming in his lap again. This time, sun is just beginning to stream through the windows, peeking over the mountains in the distance, and Harry blinks roughly as he stands with the baby, balancing him in one arm and running a hand through his flyaway hair. His mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton all night and there's an odd sort of burning fatigue building in his eye, as though he hadn't slept at all.

"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" he asks James as he crosses the room toward the door, trying to shush him as he goes. "I know you're hungry, but you don't need to wake up the entire family. I'm working on it."

He pulls the door open and hurries down the corridor, trying to get through without waking Draco. On the second floor landing, he pauses briefly, listening for any sounds that might be coming from Teddy's room. He hears a small crash and sighs to himself as he continues on his way. Teddy will be rushing headlong down the stairs soon enough, but he's old enough now that he can handle a bit of time on his own in the mornings. Right now, Harry's first priority is making it to the kitchen so he can get James to calm down.

He walks through the double doors into the yellow-walled, sun-soaked kitchen, brushing past the windows and shifting James to balance him on his hip. He fumbles for the container of baby formula on the counter and shakes a bit into a bottle, adding water and warming it with a clumsy flick of his wand.

Harry lays the little boy down in the pop-up cradle that they have set up in the corner and holds the bottle down to him, waiting for him to grab onto it. James takes hold of it eagerly, both his feet coming up to hold on as well, and Harry can't help laughing to himself as he watches his son scramble for the bottle. He's not crawling yet, but he's got plenty of strength in his arms and legs and he's begun rolling onto his stomach whenever given the chance. Harry can already tell that he'll be a bit of a handful once he's fully mobile, what with his seemingly never-ending energy.

Harry shakes his head, a smile still on his face, and starts going through the motions of making breakfast. As he's putting the kettle on, he hears a noise behind him and turns to find Draco standing in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Did you ever come back to bed?" Draco asks him, confused.

"No," Harry shakes his head and turning back to the stove as Draco moves closer to him, "I fell asleep in the chair again."

He feels a pair of arms snaking around his waist from behind and he smiles, pressing back as Draco rests his chin on his shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, staring out over the back garden, watching the sun come up through the window, and Harry feels completely at home. James gurgling happy in the background, Draco warm and solid against him, and Teddy crashing down the stairs with an excited smile on his face, dancing around the kitchen in his pyjamas. Harry squeezes Draco's hand once, and Draco nods against his shoulder, understanding. This is how life is meant to be lived.

* * *

**A/N:** See? I did it! Biological parents without MPreg! :) Sorry if you like MPreg…just not my thing. I'm too much of a geeky science student to accept that it could exist, even _with_ magic. In my original outline for this chapter, it was supposed to be about James's birth, but that got to be too technical. And once I cut out all the technical bits, it was about 600 words long. Lol So I chucked it all in the bin and started over. I hope you liked it! Please Review! :)


	5. 12 August, 2002

**A/N:** Thank you so much to all of you who are reviewing. :D It makes my heart go all warm and fuzzy every time I read about how much you guys are liking this. I hope you like this chapter, and _please_ continue to review! It makes writing so much fun.

_It Comes and Goes In Waves (I Was Never One to Believe the Hype)_

12 August, 2002

"Harry, for Merlin's sake, will you quit fidgeting?" Draco scolds him for the fifth time that evening as he pulls Harry's collar back down to its proper place.

Harry pulls a face, his drink clamming up in his hand as he tries to wriggle away from Draco. "Why did I have to get new dress robes anyway?" he asks, frustrated. "It's not as though this is actually important."

Two weeks ago, they'd been guilted into attending the _Daily Prophet_ Gala for Integrity in Journalism by a very overeager Hermione who, after starting her new job at the Ministry, is in charge of organising the affair and ensuring it goes off smoothly. It's one of a seemingly endless stream of ambiguously charitable events that they're regularly invited to and often ignore. This time, though, Hermione had been so insistent, so hopeful when she'd asked them, that they'd felt as though they couldn't say no. Draco, ever conscious of making a good impression, had insisted that Harry at least purchase a new set of robes for the occasion. Harry had been planning on just wearing the same set he'd worn for their wedding, but Draco had scoffed at that and, while Harry agreed that they'd gone a bit out of fashion over the last few years, the new ones are a bit too fitted for his taste.

Draco bats his hand away as Harry reaches up to tug at the bow tie around his neck. "You're worse than Teddy, honestly," he mutters as he smooths the stiff fabric. "Just pretend you're comfortable. People are staring."

"People are always staring," Harry says, brushing him off unhappily.

Whenever they go out in public, it seems to be assumed that they're making a spectacle of themselves. Harry often wishes he could walk around in a disguise or take his Invisibility Cloak to events like this; he would be able to avoid an awful lot of prying questions that way. Things had actually begun to quiet down a bit for them once James's birth was no longer fresh news, but now that England seems to have good chances for the Quidditch Cup in two years, Harry, as the captain of the team, has all eyes on him once again.

Draco huffs, giving up on Harry, and casts a glance around the room. Harry knows that it's worse for Draco than it is for him when they're plastered across the papers. Even after all these years, people still seem to find issue with the fact that Harry chose a Malfoy, of all people, to settle down with. While the unwanted attention pointed in Harry's direction is usually at least positive, Draco gets the darker side of a lot of it.

"When will they ever get enough of you, Potter?" Draco asks distractedly, running a hand through his hair.

Harry takes a deep breath, catching one of Draco's wrists and squeezing it lightly. "Hey, it's okay. It doesn't matter what all of them think, alright?" he says, pulling Draco's focus back to him. "Look, we've made our appearance. Hermione'll be happy we showed up, and we can get out of here."

If there's one thing Harry's learnt about Draco over the years, it's that he needs a constant stream of reassurances. Though he talks a big game, when they're put in the spotlight, it quickly becomes apparent that he's one of the least self-confident people Harry knows. This was something that he'd had to get used to very quickly when they'd first begun to make their relationship public, but he supposes it makes sense in light of everything he's known about Draco since they met. Everything Draco had done all those years, all the bullying and vicious taunting, it's obvious now, looking at the man that Harry's come to know, that he was lashing out, unsure of himself, feeling around for a place in the world.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Draco says, a muscle clenching in his jaw. "We should be getting back home anyway. The boys have probably burnt down the house by now under Longbottom's watchful eye."

"Don't start that again," Harry laughs, shaking his head as he began to steer Draco from the room. "It's good of Ginny and Neville to watch them."

"Good of them?" Draco scoffs, snatching a drink from a passing waiter. "Longbottom would probably burn down the house _himself_ if she wasn't there."

Harry laughs again, rolling his eyes. He's about to open his mouth to reply when a short, squat, garishly dressed woman of about thirty appears in their way. The two of them stop short, staring at her apprehensively. Her name is Bellonia Watershed, the newest Rita Skeeter on the scene. After a few recent, unflattering articles printed about the two of them in the _Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_, Harry is feeling very cautious as she sizes them up eagerly, her tiny eyes flicking to Harry's hand on Draco's waist.

"What do you want, Bellonia?" Draco asks, his voice gone suddenly cold. "We were just leaving."

She gives them a simpering smile, her bright pink lips curling upward to reveal a row of rather jagged teeth. "Oh, don't mind me," she says in her high-pitched voice. "I was just hoping to catch the elusive couple before they escaped yet again. Since I have you here, I'm sure you wouldn't mind my asking a few questions."

Harry sighs, his shoulders straightening a bit as he steps closer to Draco protectively. "We're really in a bit of a hurry," he says guardedly, watching her quill carefully, which is scribbling away, nearly out of sight. "Need to get home to the boys, you understand."

"Of course, of course," she says politely, though Harry can see a dangerous glint in her eye. "And how are your boys? We so rarely see them out and about."

"By we, I'm assuming you mean the rest of the world?" Draco asks, arching an eyebrow. "People who have no business discussing my son's or my nephew's lives?"

Harry glances sideways at Draco for a brief moment, noting the warning look in his eye. Draco gets like this whenever he feels threatened; he reverts to the lessons he was taught by his father about the proper behaviour of a Malfoy and becomes cold and imperious, filled with a distant sort of fury that would make a lesser person quiver in their shoes. Harry's surprised that Bellonia hasn't run away yet; if he had been fixed with that look, he knows he'd probably be back-pedalling at the least.

"Well, you're a very talked about family," she says, charging on bravely despite the menacing look on Draco's face. "You must know that keeping them away from the spotlight only increases suspicion. How can we know they're being properly cared for? Tell me, is there any truth behind the recent rumours of a Ministry Inquiry into the boys' welfare?"

"How dare you," Draco hisses viciously, his expression quickly changing to one of rage.

It's very lucky that a dancing couple knocks into them just then, because the drink in Draco's hand flies forward and splashes down the front of Bellonia's dress before Harry's fully comprehended what happened. The diversion gives him a brief second to react and he's able to catch Draco by the wrist as he reaches for his wand.

"Not here," Harry whispers to him furiously, pulling his hand away from the pocket that contains his wand. "You will _not_ do this now."

Draco draws himself up, jerking his hand from Harry's grasp. "Fine," he says, his voice still cold. He casts a withering look in Bellonia's direction before turning to Harry. "We're leaving."

"I should think so," Harry mutters, but Draco ignores him and, in a whirl of robes, he's marching toward the door.

"Sorry about the drink," Harry calls to Bellonia as he follows Draco from the room. He smiles awkwardly at the people they pass who are now openly gawking at them after the scene they've made. "Sorry," he says again.

He hears the crack of Draco apparating before he even reaches the hall outside the ballroom, the noise louder than normal. He follows suit, assuming Draco has gone home, and when he opens his eyes, he catches a glimpse of Draco walking quickly up the drive toward the front door.

"Draco, stop," he calls after him, running to catch up. "Wait."

Draco doesn't slow down, but he does pause on the porch, slumping against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. He doesn't look up when Harry reaches him, but when Harry places a gentle hand on his waist, Draco flinches away from the touch.

"Integrity in journalism," he scoffs, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Unbelievable. You'd think she'd at least have enough decency not to make things up like that."

"What were you thinking, trying to draw your wand in a crowded room like that?" Harry asks him, more concerned than angry, but Draco takes offence.

He looks up at Harry, his mouth hanging open. "_What was I thinking_? You heard what she said!" he says, raising his voice. "A Ministry Inquiry? What a complete load of dragon —"

"I know what she said," Harry interrupts, feeling himself getting a bit frustrated. "But that's no excuse. You can't _do_ things like that, Draco. Not anymore. As much as I hate to say it, we've got an image to keep up. Think of the boys!"

Draco stands up straighter. "I _was_ thinking of them," he says, gesturing with his hands as he talks. "Why do you think she got to me? After all we've done, all _you've_ done for the lot of them, they keep trying to find reasons to hate you. I'm sick of it."

"Well, what do you expect me to do?" Harry asks him, consciously trying to keep his voice down. Ginny and Neville are just inside, and the last thing he wants them to find is the two of them having an argument on the doorstep. "It isn't as though I've asked for any of this. You know that."

Draco rolls his eyes, crowding closer to Harry, a finger poking into his chest. "You know, that's your problem," he says, his tone getting nastier. "Famous Potter, always apologising for the attention he gets. If you spent half as much time trying to make a good impression as you do hiding from it all, maybe we wouldn't be in this situation."

Harry rolls his eyes, backing up from Draco. "Oh, now you're just trying to pick a fight," he says exasperatedly. "You aren't even making sense anymore."

"I'm not?" Draco asks, his face flushing redder. "You're trying to tell me it isn't true? That you don't hide away and pretend none of this exists?"

Harry shakes his head. "Alright, that's it," he says, waving a hand in Draco's direction and turning to the door. "I'm not doing this tonight. You can stay out here if you want, but I'm going in."

"Don't you walk away from me now, Potter," Draco says, still angry.

"Draco, we aren't even arguing about anything," Harry says, annoyed. He runs a hand through his hair as he turns back to face him. "You're just upset and you want someone to yell at. I don't want to do this with you right now."

"You know, you're right. I am upset," Draco says furiously. "I'm upset because if it weren't for you, I'd probably be living a nice, normal life right now. I wouldn't have to answer to reporters about the welfare of my children, and I wouldn't be hounded every time I go out for details about the Boy With a Scar."

"Don't you dare go there," Harry says, feeling the hot prickle of anger in spite of himself. "This isn't my fault. Don't make it about me. No one's forcing you to be here."

"If it weren't for James and Teddy, who says I _would_ be here?" Draco asks, and though Harry knows he doesn't mean it, he feels the blood begin to pound in his ears. "You haven't exactly been kind to me over the years. You tried to kill me once, in case you'd forgotten. Who's to say you won't do it again?"

It's Harry's turn to become irrationally angry. He pushes Draco back against the wall, the pounding in his ears deafening. "How can you say something like that?" he asks furiously, but the words don't feel right coming out of his mouth, oddly twisted and strange. "You know I never meant to do that. That was years ago, and while we're bringing up the past, if it weren't for me, _Malfoy_, you know where you'd be? You'd be rotting in a prison cell right now, stuck there for the rest of your life. How would you like that, hmm?"

But as Harry stands close to him in the dim light of the porch, he notices that the anger in Draco's face seems to have dissolved away, replaced instead by a slack-jawed look of surprise. Harry's blood is still boiling, and he's not sure why Draco seems to have given up on their fight, but then Draco's hand flies forward and catches him by the collar, jerking him closer. Their lips collide roughly, and for a moment, Harry's frozen, surprised by the sudden onslaught.

"Parseltongue," Draco groans into Harry's mouth by way of explanation. "God, I hate you sometimes."

Draco flips them and, before Harry knows it, he's the one being pinned against the wall, Draco's hands tugging impatiently at the bow tie around his neck. Harry bites down hard on his lip, his anger not entirely forgotten, but Draco doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he becomes more desperate as Harry continues to bite at his jawline and his neck without remorse, drawing blood in a few places as he goes. When Draco's hands begin to drift downward, though, Harry is abruptly reminded of where they are, and he has to struggle to free himself from the frantic hold Draco has on him.

"Inside," Harry growls, his eyes dark. "Upstairs."

It's all he can say, careful to make sure the words come out in English. Draco doesn't speak as he fumbles with the doorknob and hurries up to the bedroom, completely bypassing the sitting room, from which they can hear soft voices drifting into the hall. Harry follows the noise and finds Ginny and Neville sitting on the couch by the fire, talking quietly. When he enters the room, Neville looks up at him and raises an eyebrow, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Had a good night, then?" he asks, clearly amused.

Harry blushes, suddenly very aware of his ruined tie and rumpled clothing. He runs a hand over his hair, which is even more on end than usual.

"Well, it wasn't all bad," Harry says uncomfortably, his voice still not quite back to normal. "How were the kids?"

"Oh, they were fine," Ginny says, giggling. "They're already asleep, which I suppose is a good thing. Be sure not to forget a silencing charm, though."

"Yeah, I guess we'll be off, then," Neville says, standing up from the couch and pulling Ginny up after him. "Wouldn't want to keep you."

"Oh, shut up," Harry says, feeling himself flush even redder.

"Good night, Harry," Ginny says, her eyes still sparkling with mirth as she steps into the fireplace to Floo home.

"Thanks for everything, Gin," Harry calls after her. Neville turns to him, still laughing, and Harry points a finger in his direction. "Don't you dare high-five me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Neville says, turning to follow Ginny into the fire and back to their flat.

Harry waves a hand at him. "I'm going to bed," he says, laughing.

"I'm sure you are," Neville replies, stepping into the fireplace and disappearing before Harry can say anything else.

Harry makes his way up the stairs to the third floor where their bedroom is, his heart rate picking back up. When the door clicks behind him, Draco pins him against the wall again, tugging even more impatiently at his collar.

"Took you long enough," he mutters into the skin of Harry's neck, breathing deeply.

Harry presses a hand into his back, holding him close as he guides them toward the bed. They seem to have slowed down a bit and Harry, no longer angry, has lost a bit of his fiery edge. He runs his thumb over a particularly purple coloured bite mark on the side of Draco's neck and plants a light kiss there, apologetic. Their hands begin to wander, no longer in any rush, knowing they have at least a few hours before James wakes up looking for attention, and when Draco flops back onto the pillows a half hour later, sticky with sweat and his hair a wreck, Harry curls close into his side.

Draco begins to laugh quietly, rumbling in his chest, the motion rocking Harry a bit.

"What?" Harry asks around a yawn, a smile spreading across his face.

Once of Draco's hands rubs slowly up his back. "You win every fight we have," Draco mutters, his nose buried in Harry's hair. "It's just not fair. Whenever you get angry, you start up with that, and I can't help myself."

Harry lets his eyes fall closed, the smooth up-and-down motion of Draco's hand lulling him to sleep. "Not my fault it's your weakness," he says, his voice quiet.

"_You're_ my weakness," Draco tells him pulling him a bit closer.

And though he knows they'll probably be woken in a few hours by a screaming toddler, that they'll spend most of the next day trying to keep Teddy from crashing his toy broom through one of the windows, and that this won't be the last argument they have, Harry feels as though everything is perfect right now, like he could stay in this place for weeks, months, and never want to leave. He tightens his arm on Draco's chest, pulling himself in a little bit closer, and allows himself to drift off.


End file.
